saudade
by teasingyourtears
Summary: Beca travels to the various places where she and Chloe had gone as a couple. She writes and records their memories in the postcards that she cut and drew herself, sending them back home to her beloved.
1. letter from the swiss

Dear Chloe,

I'm in Lausanne now and the weather out here is pretty cooling. I'm staying at this little cottage owned by one of Jesse's dad's friends. It sits on the edge of Lake Geneva - directly opposite Evian which is the village across the lake at the French side. I'm doing well - just missing you a lot, every single day.

Remember how we'd bought our first tickets out of the States and decided to come to Switzerland? But you didn't want to be like other normal tourists; you'd called yourself a traveler and you had all these booklets and notepads along with your favorite ZIG pen, and you'd sit by this lake and scribble. Or doodle or sketch. And I'd be right behind you by the tree making my mixes.

I wish you had listened to every one of them. I'm sitting at that tree now, writing you this.

I miss you.

Do you remember one of the afternoons when we had rented a small rowboat and you made me row us along the edge of the lake towards Ouchy? It was so far away and my arms were threatening to fall apart at the shoulder joints. I'd whined and you just gaily laughed at my poor attempts to stop and rest. Just when I'd thought I could row no more, you were standing over me and you'd grabbed that oar from my hands. I'd most willingly gave it up to you and watched you sit next to me - the oar thrust into the waters and you pushed hard, rowing us for the rest of our journey.

Maybe I didn't tell you, and I couldn't tell you enough - I love you, and I fell harder in love with you with every splash of the water.

The next morning, you'd woken me up in bed with a plate of my favorite breakfast - McDonald's hotcakes with sausages. You'd held them over my face, in hopes that the aroma would wake me up. It sure did. I remember myself groggily opening my eyes to meet those beautiful light blue ones of yours. I recall asking you where you got them from when there was no McDonald's near our hotel. You'd simply smiled that mysterious grin of yours, like you have a thousand secrets that you can't wait to share with me but don't know which to start with, and asked me to eat. Later that day when we went to the old town for a walk, I saw a McDonald's outlet and knew immediately you'd bought them from there.

The way your smile dropped and faltered as we passed by the fast-food restaurant; the way you looked at me sideways with that playful glint in your eyes.

I knew, I just knew.

You'd taken the earliest metro out to downtown, a good 45 minutes away in the cold just to get me breakfast in bed.

Maybe I didn't tell you, and I couldn't tell you enough - I love you, and I fall deeper in love with you every single morning.

On our last day in Switzerland, I'd wanted to visit the alps. We went to buy tickets from the train station, and when the train conductor commented on how cute we look together, the way you laugh just lit up my entire world. I'd watched you grip the tickets tightly in your hand as we waited for the train to arrive. The cold air made me shiver and I'd tugged at my jacket to block out the breeze. You saw and quickly wrapped your arms around me.

"I'll keep you warm," you'd whispered, wisps of evaporation coming out from your mouth.

"I'm still cold." I found myself simpering. You'd rolled your eyes and huffed, lifting your right leg up and hooking it around my lower body.

"Then I'll just hug you tighter," you'd whispered again, this time right into my ears so that your warm breath would fill my almost-frostbitten ear.

Maybe I didn't tell you, and I couldn't tell you enough - I love you, and I love that you steal my heart away with every single breath.

The sun is setting now, Chlo. Its blood orange glow reminds me of your hair - that bunch of red hair that I love to run my fingers through so much. I miss you, Chlo.

I wish you're here with me.

Forever yours,

pintsize


	2. letter from belgium

Dear Chloe,

I'm in Brussels now and I just came back from the Atomium. Remember how excited you got when we bought the tickets? You were squealing and laughing when we got to the top after a million flights of escalator steps. You loved the exhibitions - especially the ones on the nordic nomads. I loved it when you read all the signs of all the exhibits, trying your hardest to digest all the information given. I loved it when you read them in different accents which you insisted are real.

When we finally exited the gigantic molecule building at the end of the day, you pulled me towards this vast piece of lawn nearby and made me do all the weird poses. When I refused to cooperate further after an embarrassing "Put your hands between your crotch whilst doing a half-squat" stance, you pouted and requested to switch places with me.

I remember taking over the camera and looking through the viewfinder; I remember my breath hitching in my throat when I spotted you through that tiny rectangular window as you basked in the glory of the sunset.

You are so beautiful.

I'd laugh and tried to spend the entire roll of film on you as you worked those ridiculous poses, but I never got the chance. After your 20th pose, you ran over and grabbed the device from my hands.

"I've always wanted to do this," you whispered into my ear as you held me close and extended the camera to face us. I smiled at the camera, not realizing that you've turned your head to plant a kiss on my cheek just as the flash went off.

"I love you," the last words I heard before I got lost in your lips.

Maybe I didn't tell you, and I couldn't tell you enough - I love you too, and I'd do anything to keep that smile etched on your face forever.

On our second day in the European capital, you decided that we should try all the chocolates in the city. After all, "this is the hometown to Godiva and Neuhaus," you'd argue. And who am I to refute that? So I let you pull me around the city, getting our feet wet with all the melted snow as we went from one chocolatier to another. My throat was burning at the end of the chocolate fiesta, and I whined.

I'm sorry that I whined.

You simply shook your head and said you understand. You pulled me into a cafe and ordered a pot of Camomile tea with honey from the waiter. I watched you dirtied your hands as you squeezed the lemon halves, letting the juice drip into the cup and ignoring the papercuts you'd gotten from earlier that morning when you flipped the maps. You hissed softly and wiped your hands against your jacket.

"Sit here and wait for me," you said. When you saw the worry in my eyes, you smiled. "Don't worry, I'll be back in a jiffy." And then you were gone.

By the time I'd finish the whole pot of tea, you were back. The smile on your face was blinding as you sat down next to me with a package in your hand. You were excited.

I remember gasping and flailing when I opened the package. Inside, it was a bunch of vinyl records of a couple of my favorite artistes. They were all vintage and yellowed. I couldn't believe that you remembered. I couldn't, because I'd merely mentioned about the records on the fly.

But you remembered.

Maybe I didn't tell you, and I couldn't tell you enough - I love you, and I couldn't be more proud to call you mine.

Remember _Chez Leon_? We were both so hungry and tired but you insisted on finding the restaurant. It was our last day in Belgium and you said that we couldn't leave Brussels without having their mussels. I remember laughing at your quip as we hobbled down the wet, cobbled streets.

It was almost 8 in the evening and the sky was dark. It was winter and it was freezing. Your arm wrapped around me as you struggled to read the map with your other hand. The wind blew and it caught on to the flimsy piece of paper. I remember you yelping and chasing after the wind, ignoring the blisters on your feet and the mess that was your hair.

You'd never look more beautiful in that moment.

I watched you disappear around the bend and I waited. I knew deep down that you'd come back for me but you didn't appear after a few moments. I was worried; I was worried sick. I started running towards that bend, trying my hardest to ignore all the possible scenarios that could happen to you.

I can't lose you.

And then you appeared, panting hard like I was when we almost crash into each other at the end of the bend. You flashed that goofy smile of yours as you held out a container. Its sides were fogged with hot steam and you gingerly lifted the lid to reveal a handful of mussels swimming in pipping hot white wine broth.

"Here you go," you whispered, picking up a piece of mussel with a small plastic fork and blowing on it before holding it out towards me. You eyed me as I closed my lips over the warm piece of seafood, giggling when I hummed in contentment.

"Chez Leon?" You shook your head, pointing down the alley where the locals lived. A wrinkly-looking granny stood near her door smiling at us. I remember Mrs Delacroix - what a sweetheart. You'd beg every household, knocking on their doors to ask if they've mussels.

You didn't want me to go hungry; you know it was late. We sat by the curbside and you fed me the remaining mussels, insisting that I finish them all. "I'm not hungry," you said, placing the empty container down. I'd leaned in and gathered you in my arms; my hunger all satiated and gone.

And that's when I heard it. You looked almost guilty as your cheeks blushed. But there was none left.

"I'll have the sandwich back in our hotel," you whispered, kissing me on the lips as you pulled me up on our feet.

Maybe I didn't tell you, and I couldn't tell you enough - I love you, and I promised myself that night that I would never, ever let you go hungry again all the days of our lives.

I miss you, Chlo.

I wish you're here with me.

Forever yours,

B


	3. first letter from iceland

Dear Chloe,

It's the second day in Hveragerdi and I'm waiting for the rain to stop. You've said that you'd wanted to come back here to Iceland one day – to see the Northern Lights again, to finally go for that whale trip in Husavik, and of course for that second helping of lobster soup at Humarhofnin.

Remember how happy you were with that bowl of thick, orangey liquid when it came? Complete with three pieces of cut baguette toasts and all your grouses about the long car ride vanished. You'd even volunteered to take over the steering wheel for a while so that I could enjoy the scenery. If only I'd recalled this earlier – I would have made a whole pot for you whenever you had the craving for something salted, thick and smooth with a pinch of game.

But I didn't.

It was late afternoon when I finally touched down at Keflavík International. The cab driver who was there dropped me off at the Blue Lagoon before heading back to Hotel Flon (you remember this place, don't you?) I still remember the look on your face when you finally saw the baby blue waters and the white steam. You were literally bouncing with glee and I had to chase after you to the pools after you speed-striped your way at the changing area. The sounds you've made led every head turn in our direction. Why wouldn't they? You laughed like an angel.

Like there was heaven on your lips.

Then you settled back into one of those silica-clad walls and you pulled me towards you. The buoyancy of the sodium-rich waters made that an easy task for you. I tried my best to keep still but every single touch of you on my skin sent waves of tingles down my spine. That's when you wrapped your arms around me – your chin digging deep into my shoulder, our breaths mingling with the steam.

"There's a man staring at you, B." You said into my ear, your grip tightening around my waist. I'd smiled and entwined my fingers in yours – which you seemed to grab hold of gratefully. When the said man finally plucked up enough courage and swam over, I'd almost died from your death hold. The sheepish look on his face could not compare with the growing burn from the heat emanating from your body.

Was it anger or was it the heat from the waters around us? Before the poor man could even part his lips to utter a greeting, you silenced him – cut him right off to the hilt.

"She's mine."

Maybe I didn't tell you, and I couldn't tell you enough: The day you'd ask is the day I'd belong to you forever. No question needed.

The rain has finally ceased but the windows have fogged up too much for anyone to take a proper look outside. Remember how bad the snow was when we arrived at Frost and Fire that day? The drive was uneven and we were both so worried we had to pay extra for insurance by the time we return the Ford. When we finally pulled up to a stop in front of the admin office, you immediately turned the engine off and pulled me over, engulfing my body in your arms – arms that I loved so much.

"Sorry," you whispered into my shoulder, "sorry that I took so many wrong turns."

The truth is, you didn't. I was the one with the GPS but you wouldn't let the blame be on me. The sky was already starting to fall to night, and my useless stomach kept rolling its grouses, almost drowning out the Icelandic music playing on the radio. I remember: Of Monsters and Men was playing and it was the one song that somehow had lifted the heavy mood in the car.

"_Some had scars and some had scratches. It made me wonder about their past. And as I looked around I began to notice, that we were nothing like the rest."_

Maybe I didn't tell you, and I couldn't tell you enough: You did nothing wrong, nothing ever. You're an excellent driver, Chloe. An excellent driver.

Elfa (you'd remember her) just came in with a bunch of terry robes and asked me to head to the baths at the back. I remember how excited we were after getting off from the Ford with all the luggage to be dipping and relaxing in a pool of warm water – especially in such a cold day like that. You could call me a perv but I couldn't keep my eyes off of you when you changed into that slick two-piece of yours while I cowered in my own one-piece. How could I? That two pieces of red lycra hugged your curves as though they belonged to your body and heat pooled instantly at a place where I didn't need it to be. The smirk on your face told me you knew what I was thinking.

Loved it when you knew what I was thinking. Always.

"Hold me." I obliged, throwing my arms around your torso and pulling you closer. I could taste the saltiness from the minerals caught in your hair. I could smell the Earl Grey from your breath as you craned back to kiss me. Your lips tasted like the herring we had that morning before we departed from Vik and I realized, I didn't mind it at all. Not one bit. Not even when we knew I hated preserved fish.

I remember waking up the next morning – it was still dark out even though the clock showed 0830 hours, and I found you lying on top of me with your cheek against mine. I haven't told you before: that was my favorite way to be woken up. Your legs tangled in mine - your left hand grasping my right; we shared our body heat under the thick covers as you snoozed on.

"I keep you warm." You gibbered, still thick in your sleep, totally unaware of the fully awaken person lying below you. Your hold over my hand tightened and you turned your head the other direction – our lips meeting for that split second before you rested your other cheek on my face.

Maybe I didn't tell you, and I couldn't tell you enough: I miss your warmth, Chlo and I need it so much.

Snowcapped mountains and artsy barren trees greeted us as we trudged our way downhill towards the town of Hveragerdi. Hand in hand, we endured the unfeeling wind blowing against our faces. You're determined to bring me to one of the local diners for lunch. You'd found the address online whilst I was bathing and couldn't stop blabbering about their waffles and coffee.

You know how much I love waffles.

To speed up the process, you helped wipe me dry and pulled on my long-johns for me. You'd made sure I was kept warm by pilling up feasible layers upon me before zipping me up in that huge red overcoat. We had matching ones. Aubrey and gang have commented how ugly it was because it made us look like oversized tomatoes and I was so mad because I was the one who bought them for us. But you never complained. You've never paid heed to any of their snarks – instead, you wore it the moment I took it out from its packaging and proudly paraded it in front of our friends.

"Beca bought this for me."

When we reached the place you'd intended, it was closed. The sign that was posted on the door was scribbled in illegible writing, possibly in the local language because it looked very viking-ish. You kicked a stone as you vented your frustration, your face red. The growl that followed reminded me of my promise to you and I tugged you away, possibly by a few lucky seconds before you tore down the doors. I couldn't help but smile along with you as your face lit up at the sight of another eating place.

Cafe Rose.

Turned out the locals preferred this place to the other. As we waited for our waffles, you played the game of tag with our feet. My heart fluttered as you bursted into a fit of giggles every time you managed to catch one of my feet with yours. I love how you'd grab on to my limb with both your feet, not letting go until you decided to start the next round. I love how you'd never let go when our food came and we wolfed them down like we hadn't eaten in days. I love how you'd reach over and wipe off that bit of cream left on the corner of my mouth; I love how you'd lick that cream off your thumb and how you'd smile at me sheepishly as if you've done something embarrassing.

Maybe I didn't tell you, and I couldn't tell you enough: I've never been embarrassed of you, and I never would.

On our third and last day in the small town, you decided that we should tackle that hiking trail behind Frost and Fire. Halfway through the trail, you suddenly threw a ball of snow right at me. Of course I'd retaliated, my ball smaller than yours. I love how you took care not to throw it at my vulnerable point – even though you could have. I love how you'd tease me for my small balls because I couldn't make bigger ones with my small hands. I love how you'd come over to teach me to make a good solid snowball; how you'd even let me throw it at you to test its strength.

When we finally got tired of throwing snow at each other, we found a flat spot and laid down. The sun has almost used up its five hours limit, and the skies above us and the snow-clad mountains around us were painted in its pink glow. I could feel your hot breath against my ear as you snuggled closer to me. It was beautiful.

"Are you cold?" You shook your head, digging your face further into my neck. That's when I knew: you were freezing. But you wouldn't leave.

"I love this." You whispered, gesturing around us. "I love lying down here like this with you."

Maybe I didn't tell you, and I couldn't tell you enough: I love lying down like that with you too.

Why haven't I told you?

I miss you, Chlo.

And I wish you're here with me.

Love always,

Beca


End file.
